


tibi nox, tibi tota dies (ava)

by SingYourMelody



Series: to sleep, perchance to dream [2]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Other, Surreal Dreamscapes, gender neutral detective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 03:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30032655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingYourMelody/pseuds/SingYourMelody
Summary: You know it’s a dream because Ava is touching your face, she’s touching your face and she’s saying your name and that’s how you know it’s a dream, and isn’t that just the saddest thing ever? You know she’s in love with you and she knows you’re in love with her and it could be so, so easy.It could be so easy, she says to you. She smiles and looks in your eyes and you’ve been getting so much of her in your dreams, lately, so much of her without the running away and the constant unyielding restraint and the longing glances mingled with pain. Everything is always so difficult with Ava, even though it never has to be.Ava smiles and looks in your eyes and says, I know. She says, it could be so easy with you.* * *The Detective dreams and falls through dreams, and Ava is always present but never there.
Relationships: Detective/Ava du Mortain
Series: to sleep, perchance to dream [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2209248
Kudos: 3





	tibi nox, tibi tota dies (ava)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, this ended up being a completely different fic than I originally intended. I always end up writing strange fever dream-y things after staying up all night. Title translates very literally to “for you the night, for you the whole day.”
> 
> Also, I refer to A as “beautiful” in the Adam version of this fic and “handsome” in the Ava version. This is not an oversight, I like beautiful men and handsome women.

You know it’s a dream because Ava is touching your face, she’s touching your face and she’s saying your name and that’s how you know it’s a dream, and isn’t that just the saddest thing ever? You know she’s in love with you and she knows you’re in love with her and it could be so, so easy. 

It could be so easy, she says to you. She smiles and looks in your eyes and you’ve been getting so much of her in your dreams, lately, so much of her without the running away and the constant unyielding restraint and the longing glances mingled with pain. Everything is always so difficult with Ava, even though it never has to be.

Ava smiles and looks in your eyes and says, I know. She says, it could be so easy with you. 

* * *

It could be so easy, Ava says to you in the car. You’re eating french fries, feet up on the dashboard. You love the way Ava drives, like if one of those driving manuals at the DMV grew hands and feet and a penchant for long, stoic silences. 

It could be so easy, Ava is saying, and you’re trying to pay attention but the french fries are getting cold and it is of the utmost importance that you drop them out the window, one at a time. You want to watch them land but the car is going twenty miles over the highway speed limit, easily, and there are no highways in Wayhaven. 

Where are we going, Ava? you ask. But she doesn’t answer.

* * *

You know you’re home because the furniture is all the same, but you’re not home. You’re not home because Ava isn’t there, and isn’t she usually home by now? Your teeth are beginning to chatter with the wrongness of it. She’s usually home by now.

You’re usually home by now, you say to Ava when she walks through the door, right on schedule, and you mean for it to sound casual but it tears out of your throat like an accusation. Your hands are shaking. 

I’m not home, Ava says. The furniture is all the same, but you’re not here. 

* * *

Ava’s on the bridge with her arm around your waist. The water is sparkling prettily under the sun and the rocks are sparkling prettily under the sun and Ava’s teeth are sparkling prettily under the sun, and you know it’s a dream because it’s winter and rocks don’t sparkle and Ava never smiles at you except when she thinks nobody is looking.

I like hearing you say my name, you admit with your head tucked under Ava’s chin. Depending on your height, this is either comfortably easy or comically difficult, but you can’t quite remember how tall you are. You can’t quite remember how tall Ava is.

She smiles and obliges you. It’s a picture perfect moment.

Isn’t this perfect? she says. 

* * *

You’re in a phone booth, and Ava isn’t picking up. Ava has never not picked up within five seconds of you calling her.

Come on, come on, you say nervously under your breath.  _ Please _ . 

The dial tone is making your ears bleed and you’re almost out of coins and your hands are shaking so much you can’t get a coin in the slot, just keep drop drop dropping them and why isn’t Ava picking up, Ava always picks up--

Ava is knocking on the glass door of the phone booth. It’s me, she says. I’m here.

Your hands don’t stop shaking. You still keep trying to press coins into the slot.

* * *

It’s not so bad, Ava says. You can’t remember what she’s talking about. You’re staring at her hands, knuckles bone white as she grips the hilt of her sword taut. She looks so handsome in her suit of armor you can’t stand it. 

She’s cutting through the thistle, eyes focused. The thorns are thick and the brambles are tough; it’s heavy work. She keeps you straight behind her with one arm while she clears the way. 

What is? you try to ask, but your mouth is dry with dust. Ava hears you anyway.

Isn’t, she says. It isn’t so bad.

* * *

You can’t remember your lines and everyone is watching, everyone is waiting, the silence is deafening, echoes throughout the empty theatre. Ava is staring at you, expectant. 

I…, you hazard uncertainly, voice faltering. 

Ava shakes her head.

You…, you try again, tongue feeling thick in your mouth. 

Ava’s lip twists briefly downward, eyes and hands urging you to try again.

We, you say and you can already feel the rest ready to tumble from your lips. Ava’s eyes alight, she nods encouragingly.

We, you say, are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our life is rounded with a little sleep.

The applause is deafening.

* * *

You’re sitting in a cafe, gazing wistfully out the window. Your hands are wrapped tight around a warm cup of something you don’t remember ordering.

Ava pulls a chair up, sits down next to you. You feel her eyes studying the curvature of your face, tracing the lines of your looking. 

What are you looking at? she says.

For, you say. I’m looking for you.

* * *

Yes, I will be thy priest, she says, and build a fane in some untrodden region of my mind, where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain, instead of pines, shall murmur in the wind.

Ava turns, smiles at you. It’s nice, but it doesn’t feel like when Ava smiles at you.

That’s lovely, you murmur softly. You can’t bring your eyes to meet hers for some reason, so you keep them on the soft grass as you twirl a wildflower between your fingers.

It is lovely, isn’t it? she says.

* * *

Where are you? you ask from the top of the water tower. There are no water towers in Wayhaven. Ava smiles, easy and slow, and says, I’ll just be a minute, I’m almost at the top.

Where are you? you ask, and your eyes have never left Ava’s face and her eyes have never left yours. 

I’m almost at the top, she says again. Her smile doesn’t falter, hasn’t faltered. 

That’s not what I asked, you say. 

She climbs up another rung and says, yes, yes it is, and I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Who are you? you ask. Ava smiles, uneasy and quick, too quick. 

I’m almost at the top, she says, but you smash your foot down on her hand as soon as it grasps the final rung.

* * *

Why are you bleeding? you ask, curious. Ava hides her hand behind her back, quick as anything, and kisses your cheek.

I’ll tell you once we’re there, she says, but we’re running late. I brought you flowers if you want to braid them in your hair, but you’ll have to do it in the car.

* * *

I don’t think we’re going the right way, you say, but Ava only smiles and says, it doesn’t matter, we’ll get there.

It’s a nice enough day for a walk, the sky inky black and fat with stars and moonbeams. Ava holds your hand instead of hovering protectively, and the hollow buildings loom high above you, bricks worn and ivy-consumed. 

It’s a breathtaking day for a walk, isn’t it? Ava says as your feet fall in tandem against the cobblestone streets. She squeezes your hand once, twice.

You nod your head placidly and try to agree, try to ignore what lies in the rubble. 

* * *

Ava is looking at you without looking at you, you can feel the force of her staring even as you watch her gaze out across the ocean.

Isn’t it beautiful? she says. There are no beaches in Wayhaven, she says.

I’ve always dreamed about the beach, you admit quietly. You run your hand through the soft sand, let the grains slip through your fingers. 

It could be so easy, she says. 

* * *

You’ve hit a fork in the road. You look to Ava, but she won’t meet your eyes, lingers a step behind you.

You have to choose, she says. 

I don’t know where we’re going, you say uneasily. 

You have to choose, Ava says without speaking. Her voice is rough, hands stiff at her sides.

You can feel the pressure pressing down on you, feel yourself stumbling back a step, feel the ground giving way beneath your feet.

* * *

You’re looking over the edge of the cliff, but all you can see is dust. 

You can fall, and keep falling, Ava says, or you can stay here. 

Here? you ask wordlessly, still staring down the precipice. 

Ava touches your hand. Here, she says. We can turn back and kick up the path, we won’t ever have to come here again, she says. The roads won’t lead here anymore, she tells you.

You turn to look back, and Ava smiles. 

It isn’t so bad, she says. It’s perfect here, isn’t it?

You bite your lip, unsure, and Ava squeezes your hand once, twice.

It could be so easy, she says.

You take another step towards the edge of the cliff, and Ava’s face changes, twists.

* * *

It could be so easy, Ava says as your legs dangle off the edge of the pier. 

You’re holding an ice cream cone that’s beginning to melt, all the colors running together and dripping sticky down your fingers. The sky is crowded with balloons, fireworks, confetti and sparkling glitter raining down like ash. 

You look at her. You look behind you, at the dock that leads back to the beach, back to the woods, back to the cafe and the highways and the home that isn’t your home. You look beside you, at the Ava that isn’t Ava.

You stand up, turn around. Ava beams, reaches out to hold your hand, but you close your eyes and let yourself fall backward into the water before she can touch you.

* * *

You know you’re awake because Ava isn’t sitting by your bedside; she’s standing by the window looking like she hasn’t moved for hours, days, arms crossed tight around her chest and every tensed muscle in her body radiates wordless anxiety.

Ava knows you’re awake because you can’t help but laugh softly with fondness at the familiarity of it, can’t help the sigh of relief at finally seeing her again that escapes you.

It’s amazing to watch, the way Ava instantly unfolds herself, lurches towards you in disbelief before she remembers herself and goes still, looking at you as though you’re something miraculous, as if she thought she would never see you again, as if she hasn’t been staring right at you this whole time.

You can tell she wants to tell you something she can’t bring himself to say out loud, so instead she starts saying something about some new obscure magical being, something ancient from the Echo World that wanted to use you and your consciousness as a bridge, something about eating dreams, you’re not sure, not really listening, eyes fixed on the stiff motions of her hands, the subtle worry etched into her brow, the purposeful distance she is trying to keep from you and continuously unconsciously breaching.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Ava explains helplessly, desperately. Her eyes meet yours and you can see everything in them. She presses her lips together in a thin, worried line, shuts her eyes for a second before bringing them back to yours. “You wouldn’t wake up,” she whispers.

“Couldn’t,” you correct, unable to peel your eyes away from Ava, unable to keep a smile of wild joy off your face, unwilling to even try. “I couldn’t wake up, but I always would have,” you promise, voice hoarse with disuse. 

Ava’s face does something complicated that isn’t quite a relieved smile and isn’t quite a confused frown but is somehow both, and you can feel the laugh bubbling up in your chest.

“What?” she asks, fondly unhappy with your inappropriate amusement, and you can only laugh harder, smile threatening to split your face.

“Never, ever change,” you tell her, and you almost want to make her promise it right here in this hospital room. 

Her little squint of bemused amusement is perfect, and you want to tell her so, you want to tell her everything now. 

“I love that you’re you,” you tell her plainly. “I don’t mind that it isn’t easy. I don’t want it to be easy, I just want it to be you."   


Ava stares at you and you can see in her eyes that you’ve taken her by surprise and her mind is swimming in the suddenness of your statements and her own stunned silence, that she’s searching for something stubbornly serious to say and that she’s at a loss for words, you can see her fingers twitch like she wants to reach out and touch you and you know she won’t. 

It’s so complicated, and it’s so frustrating, and it’s so Ava, and it’s so perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> "We are such stuff..." is the oft-misquoted line from The Tempest, "yes, I will be thy priest..." is taken from Keats's "Ode to Psyche," and the title is taken from Lucan's Pharsalia.


End file.
